Devotion
by GraeGrae
Summary: Les Miserables E/R WW1 AU: When Enjolras enlists to join the war efforts Grantaire is heart broken and enlists as well. (I promise the story is better than the summary)
1. Chapter 1

**Hi guys this is my first ever fanfiction! If make any mistakes please let me know! Thank you I hope you enjoy it!**

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"What...?" Grantaire prayed that he had heard his best friend wrong. "I said I signed up for the war effort," Grantaire laughed, surely this was a joke! "I'm serious Grantaire!" Grantaire looked up from the drawing of his Apollo he had been allowed to do after much begging. He should have guessed something was wrong, he had never been allowed to sketch his best friend before, when he asked the question it would be dismissed by absolutely not.

"Enjolras... You can't be serious... I don't understand... You- you aren't even old enough..." Enjolras's ever present frown grew even more definite on his god-formed face. "There are plenty of people who lie about their age, it's not that uncommon," Grantaire could feel a lump in his throat, "But why Enjolras?"

"Haven't you ever felt like you are meant for something bigger than yourself? Than this small town? There is a whole world to see! Right now there is a higher cause than just all this farm work!" "It's going to be dangerous... You could get killed!"

"Grantaire-" Grantaire began to get frantic. "Have you even thought about this? Have you thought about the people who would cry if anything were to happen to you? Your mother, your sister!" Me, Grantaire thought.

"Grantaire-"

"Just think about it a little more okay? You probably weren't thinking corre-"

"Grantaire! Listen to me! I have already made my decision! I can't turn back now like a coward! If you don't approve that's fine!" Enjolras got up from his stool, his boots thudding loudly as he strode to the open door of the shed. When he reached the exit his pace slowed slightly, as if he was hesitating, but then picked up again.

Grantaire stared until he was no longer in sight. A stray tear made its way down his cheek and onto the sketch on his lap. His best friend, his muse, his Apollo, his Enjolras was leaving him again, and this time he might not ever come back.


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you so much for reading! Again this is my first fanfiction ever and it is unbeta'd so all mistakes are my own! If you have any suggestions about how I can write better please, please share! There may be some historical errors... Sorry about that...**  
**Thank you and enjoy!**

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They haven't spoken since, outside of the occasional mandatory exchange during their work at the farm owned by Monsieur Thenardier. He couldn't help but feel a bit of him crumble away every time he lays eyes on Enjolras. There have been all sorts of celebrations for the soldiers that will soon be departing, none of which he had attended. Grantaire knew the day that the soldiers were departing was drawing near. Four days. Four days until his reason for living would leave him.

Grantaire took a deliberately long time feeding the chickens and pigs. He didn't want to happen to run into Enjolras as they departed from the farm. M. Thenardier had stopped by earlier to give him his money before going off to the in to join Mm. Thenardier with running the town Inn. The Thenardier family was one of the most well known families in town, they owned the largest farm and only Inn.

As soon as he had finished the work needed for the day he made his way strait home. He lived alone in a small one room shack. The floor boards creaked loudly under his boots. He remembers being scared of them when he was younger, his mother would scoop him up into her loving arms and whisper soothing words to him. He remembers coming home one day finding his mother collapsed on the floor, he hadn't known what to do... he as only five years old, she died in his arms. They weren't rich by any means, there was no money left to him and he didn't know of any family he could go to, so Grantaire resorted to scraping around and begging for food. It wasn't enough, eventually he began to starve and became to weak to even move. He was dying, and he would have if it had not been for Enjolras. He gave him food until he was healthy enough to work at M. Thenardier's farm (Little Enjolras had marched in and demanded Grantaire be given a job) and get his own food. That was twelve years ago, they had been friends ever since. Grantaire followed Enjolras around everywhere, though he was constantly left behind during on of their expeditions through the back alleys of the town for being too slow. He never really made any other friends, Enjolras on the other hand was a people magnet.

Grantaire was brought out of his thoughts by seeing an empty cupboard. The whole week he had been trying to avoid social encounters all week and had neglected to buy any food. He considered not eating but he decided against it and walked out toward town.

He arrived in the town square within half an hour. The French flags hung from every window made his heart sink, he did not want to think about his Apollo leaving anymore. As he made his way to the small shop he saw a crowd of people. He recognized most of them as being the men who enlisted. Grantaire quickened his pace, until his eyes caught the one thing he didn't want to see. Enjolras stood amongst the crowd, laughing, patting each other on the back, wearing a uniform. He saw other men receiving their uniforms as well. His heart stopped as the rush of emotions came. He knew that Enjolras was still here, yet he couldn't help but feel as if he had already lost his one friend, his Apollo, his reason for living, the person he deeply and secretly loved.

He could feel tears well up in his eyes and his throat became dry. Quickly, he turned and walked onward, but, instead of turning to walk into the shop Grantaire continued on to the Thenardier's Inn where the first couple of regular drunks were beginning to shuffle in and buy their drinks.

Grantaire lost count of how long he drank. All he knew was that it was quite dark out and he was extremely drunk. He gave up most of his money earned buying himself drinks while he sat in the back watching the nightly party take place. He let the alcohol wash the pain away, even if it wouldn't keep it away it would help temporarily. After buying a few more bottles of wine, he drunkenly stumbled out of the Inn.

He didn't realize where he was going until he was there, standing in the doorway of the shed they spent their childhoods in, and still spent most of their time their together. It was also a makeshift studio where Grantaire painted in. Enjolras had refused to be used as a model. Though most of his paintings tended to be inspired by him, his blue eyes in the waters and sky's, his golden hair in the fields. Everything he ever drew reminded him of his friend, so when he stumbled to the back of the shed where he stored his paintings he fell to his knees, tears streaming down his face. His hand landed on a piece of paper and when he held it up to see the sketch he had drawn of his muse earlier in the week.

He quickly gulped down the rest if the bottle before falling to his side. He curled himself into a ball clutching the drawing close to his chest. His body was shaking as the crying continued.

After a time, exhaustion began to pull at his consciousness. He clenched the now badly wrinkled picture to his chest tighter. "I love you," he quietly slurred as he fell into a dreamless sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

**Thank you so much for reading! Again this is my first fanfiction ever and it is unbeta'd so all mistakes are my own! If you have any suggestions about how I can write better please, please share! There may be some historical errors... Sorry about that...**  
**Thank you and enjoy!**

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The next morning Grantaire woke up still on the floor. The bottles clacked together as he struggled to push himself up. A sharp pain rang through his head as his hand scrambled on the floor searching for a bottle that he hadn't drunken dry. His hand landed upon a filled bottle, he pulled the cork out and brought it to his lips.

He felt as though he had already lost the person that he loved, even though he knew he wasn't loved back in the same way. Despite all of Grantaire's attempts on telling him he was sure Enjolras had no idea. Without Enjolras he would be dead, and he knew if Enjolras left he would die, even if he didn't physically die. He would rather die with his Apollo than live without him. He knew what he had to do.

Taking another large gulp of wine, he tried to lift himself up. He gripped the wall in a desperate attempt to stop his legs from failing him. Bringing the bottle up to his face he quickly took another sip before looking at his reflection in the bottle. 'You look like shit' he thought to himself. In the barely shiny enough bottle he could see the dark bags under his eyes and his wet with sweat hair that was even messier then usual. There were lines of tears streaking through the dirt on his cheeks and he knew he probably smelled like wine. He figured he should make an attempt to clean up a little bit first. He wobbled over to the bucket of water sitting on the small table in the opposite corner of the shed and dunked his face in it, hopefully washing away most of the proof of last night. Finally he walked out the door towards town.

Upon reaching the town he headed straight to the own square. He tried to walk with confidence, with conviction, but he knew he was doing a poor job at it. He paused for a moment when he saw his destination, the table in the town square where soldiers and young men alike crowded around. With his hands shaking and knees wobbling he prepared to sign his life away to the war effort.


	4. Chapter 4

**Thank you so much for reading! Again this is my first fanfiction ever and it is unbeta'd so all mistakes are my own! If you have any suggestions about how I can write better please, please share! There are probably a lot of historical errors... Sorry about that...**  
**Thank you and enjoy!**

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This uniform is obviously too big he thought as he walked away from the table. It felt as if he was in a daze, his feet seemed to just carry him back to the shed. He had no desire to be apart of this war at all. Despite all the media praising soldiers and victors he knew that this war was terrible. Grantaire wasn't stupid, he knew the casualty numbers were tremendously higher than anything previous. He prayed that at least Enjolras would be one of those few survivors.

Abruptly he was brought out of his thoughts by the sight of Enjolras standing in the doorway of the shed. He must have heard Grantaire's foot steps so he turned around. "Grantaire! You weren't at M. Thenardier's farm. I went to your house you weren't there so I-" he stopped himself, eyes flicking down to the folded uniform in his arms.

"Did you enlist?" He asked. Grantaire couldn't read the emotion on his face. The permanent frown was there but everything else was blank. He became worried, what if Enjolras didn't approve? He had never even considered what his reaction would be.

"Y-yeah," He looked to the down, trying to avoid seeing his reaction. He heard the sound of Enjolras walking towards him. Would he praise him? Would he scold him?

Enjolras pat him firmly and friendly on the back. "Good job!" Grantaire looked up to see the gleaming brilliance of his Apollo's smile. "I'm glad to see you standing up for something," His heart skipped a beat, he had been praised. Praised by his Apollo nonetheless! He returned the smile, and stood a little taller with pride. Enjolras pat in on the back one more time before walking away, towards his own home.

Of course Enjolras praised him. He was joining the fight for his cause. Enjolras had always been one to stand up for everyone and everything. Had always been a leader, rallying troops of kids to demand they be allowed to play in places that were off limits. If they had been alive during the French Revolution Grantaire was sure Enjolras would had been a lead revolutionary, with Grantaire loyally following behind.

As he walked into the shed he silently thanked God that Enjolras hadn't gone inside and seen all the bottles strewn about. He grabbed one of the full bottles and used his teeth to upon the cork. Taking the first drink of the cheap wine he prayed that he would get drunk quickly.


	5. Chapter 5

**Thank you so much for reading! Again this is my first fanfiction ever and it is unbeta'd so all mistakes are my own! If you have any suggestions about how I can write better please, please share! There are probably a lot of historical errors... Sorry about that...**  
**Thank you and enjoy!**

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The day came for the newly recruited soldiers to depart. It came to soon Grantaire thought as he filled his newly bought canteen with wine for the road. The whole week he had kept himself fairly drunk. In fact he spent up most of his remaining money on alcohol, along with buying himself a new canteen. He had been told that there would be a parade in their honor and that he was to be prompt and in uniform. Intending to do what he was told (since he knew that is what Enjolras is going to do) he left his home. Standing in the door way he looked back taking in the sight of his home, knowing this would most likely be the last time he ever saw it.

A couple times he thought it wasn't worth it. That it wasn't worth it to die for someone who would never love him back. But, in spite of his common sense, there he was, walking side by side with Enjolras while crowds of people cheered on both sides of him. Without even looking at the man next to him he could feel the pride radiating off of him. When Grantaire turned to look at his Apollo he saw just how brightly he shone, it was like staring into the sun with its warmth so close but at the same time so far away leaving him cold and empty. Almost to quickly he turned away. His hands grabbed for the canteen hanging on his hip by his belt, he swiftly uncapped it and brought it to his lips.

"Grantaire... are you drunk?"

"Yes," he replied, still looking ahead.

"Why?"

"How do you think I had the guts to join this pointless war?" He said turning to him, but then quickly turned away again when he saw the disdain on his Apollo's face.

They marched on. Although they were simply going to a training camp for new recruits Grantaire had been quick to complain and empty his canteen. Enjolras had taken a point to not reprimand him for his endless whining, most likely because of the last comment he had made about the war.

After a few hours they came upon the camp. It was a dull place and Grantaire hated it. All the rules and regulation were strangling. He was surprised Enjolras didn't change his mind and protest being there. Their days were filled with physical exercise and lessons on military tactics along with learning how to use a gun and other weapons. Technically there was no alcohol allowed, but Grantaire had of course found a way to obtain the substance through some men who smuggled in bottles of wine.

After about a few months of training they were assigned into their army regiments. Enjolras being the shining light that he was born to be had of course attracted a group of followers that he called friends. They were an interesting group of people. There was Combeferre, he was philosophical and very knowledgeable about military tactics and such, and Courfeyrac, he was flirtatious and well loved by both men and women, although he seemed carefree Grantaire could tell he feared going off to join the real battle. Those two along with Enjolras seemed to be the 'leaders' of their group, of course with Enjolras at the top.

Jean Prouvaire, or as he preferred to be called Jehan, was a poet and lover of love. He was shy, observant and had a deep appreciation for flowers. Grantaire wondered why such a man had signed up for this war in the first place. There was Feuilly, he was a bit older than them and had previously been a fan maker. Although even older than Feuilly was Lesgle, who we called Bossuet, he had the worst luck they had ever seen. Being only twenty-five he was already bald, which made Grantaire silently thank God for his messy head of hair. Bossuet had enlisted with his friend Joly, who had been studying to be a doctor despite being a hypochondriac. Finally there was Marius, the rich boy who had joined the war effort despite his family's warnings. He and Enjolras often get in arguments with each other.

They were happy. Or more precisely Enjolras was happy, which made Grantaire content with his life at the moment. He couldn't help but feel jealous of all the rest of the Les Amis (their group name one of them had come up with), with all the attention Enjolras was giving them and their cause. Jealous of Marius during one of their arguments, jealous of Courfeyrac and Combeferre for being his right hand men. He begged for attention and cherished those few times Enjolras would admonish him for drinking.

Imagining what his life would be like if Enjolras found out about his feelings and shared them instead of being disgusted by them helped him get through the day (well that and a few bottles of wine). Sadly, he knew he wasn't worthy, wasn't worthy of his love or of his attention. Something as drunk and utterly useless as himself had no place beside the shining light of Enjolras. But he just couldn't help wishing, praying and standing in the shadow of his Apollo.


	6. Chapter 6

**Wow sorry this chapter took so long. I decided I didn't like what I was planning on doing so I had to make another plan for it. Also writers block. Ok thank you for reading I hope you enjoy! Please review with anyway I can improve this.**

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They had been in the trenches for months. The worst and last months of his life. They had lost so many friends, Bossuet to a bullet, Feuilly to a grenade, even Joly to some disease. By some miracle Grantaire was still alive, sadly. He was alive to see Combeferre tear up pages in his favorite book to use as kindling. He was alive to see Jehan's shinning light crumble into a hallow shell of what it had been. He was alive to see Courfeyrac desperately try to raise spirits although tears were forming in his own eyes.

They all sat around the pitiful excuse of a fire. None of them said a word. They had just lost Joly the day previous. Not even Enjolras dared to speak and bring them out of their mourning.

Grantaire found that he was exceptionally good at observing his friends, since that was all he was good for, silently observing, out of the way of their. He saw the way Combeferre held his head in his hands. Although he and Joly weren't too close Combeferre had made it a point care about everyone, as they all did. He had been victim of many of listening to Joly's many claims of diseases, always dismissing it with some logical reason of Joly not having the disease of the day. Grantaire could tell he felt guilty for not taking the complaints more serious until it was already too late.

He saw the way Courfeyrac clung to Jehan's hand as if it was the last thing keeping him tethered to this world, and in a way, it was. There was no secret that there was something between the two. Enjolras did not have a problem with it, neither did the rest of their small group. Those outside of their gang of friends dared not voice their disapproval, else face the wrath of of their kinship. So, they held each other, comforted each other and tried to make each other forget the horrible truths.

But what he saw most was the way Enjolras jaw clenched when Grantaire reached for his bottle. Despite his Apollo's obvious show of disapproval he raised it to his lips. He needed it now even more than before. It was a way to cope with the deaths, his Apollo's displeasure of his very existence, and his hatred of himself for his utter uselessness.

Enjolras looks about ready to snap, he thought. Good, any kind of attention Apollo was better than no attention, and maybe his humiliation would distract the rest of his friends.

"Winecask," Of course he didn't call be by my name, I'm not even worth that anymore, Grantaire thought "Do you not have the decency to put away your drink on a night like this?" He didn't even yell. The Greek God would never raise his voice for a worthless nothing.

"Oh my Apollo," he replied with a plastered smirk, "It is because of tonight and every other night like this that I drink,"

Enjolras stood and strode to stand in front of Grantaire. Quickly and maybe a bit too dramatically for his own good Grantaire took a sip of the absinthe. "Why are you even here?" He snapped. "Do you even believe in our cause?"

Grantaire laughed. "No, I don't believe in this. It's a pointless war Enjolras, the only thing coming out of this is the death of millions."

"What good are you, then?" He barked, taking Grantaire's bottle. "We would honestly be better without you here" Well it's not like I can leave now, Grantaire thought to himself as he took his flask out of his pocket, it's too late for that. " Grantaire, you are incapable of believing in anything"

"I believe in you,"

Fear broke through his mask at the realization of what he had just said. Enjolras stared confusedly as his fingers fumbled to unscrew the cap of his flask.

"What did you say?"

He couldn't unscrew the cap. His hands were shaking.

Enjolras reached out and grabbed his shoulder "Grantaire what did you say?" He demanded.

Grantaire angrily through his flask on the floor after having failed his attempt again.

"God dammit Enjolras! I love you okay?! I love you! I've been in love with you since we met and you saved me!" He thundered. If it had been any other time or situation the look on Enjolras' face would have been priceless. Tears started flowing out of his eyes. " I'm so far in love with you I couldn't even think of you not coming back! I'd rather die with you here then live the rest of my life without you!" He sobbed.

Quickly he stood and walked towards the far side of the camp, leaving Enjolras bewildered.


End file.
